


Forgiveness

by Better_Than_Chocolate



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Universe - Human, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Feelings, First Time, Forgiveness, Hate, Healing, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Journey of forgiveness, Loneliness, M/M, POV Magnus Bane, Past, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22534330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Better_Than_Chocolate/pseuds/Better_Than_Chocolate
Summary: A story about the past, about hatred, about a journey of forgiveness.. about learning how to love and how to accept being loved....Magnus felt his breath stopping somewhere out on the way, between two of his ribs, pushing against them in a way that almost made him believe that it will try to escape through his chest.But before it could, before it could break through the bones and skin to tint everything in red, to cover everything in blood just to leave his heart exposed to the world.. Magnus turned around and walked away.
Relationships: Asmodeus & Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34





	Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about the "villians" of the Shadowhunters.  
> We saw a great detail in Valentine's character, how he became who he was and despite him being in the wrong, we still see the reason behind it.  
> We met Jonathan.. the brother and son we all hate, yet I bet you we all cried when he died because deep down..we all saw how his life made him into a monster.. and somehow.. we understood.  
> But we never had the chance to truly see Asmodeus. We saw some of it, but due to the sudden end to the series, his character, and most importantly, his reasons were lost in the end.  
> I decided to write a story of a man who never had the chance to tell his own.  
> We learn about the man through Alec's eyes..and maybe..together with Magnus.. we can learn to forgive him.
> 
> ... 
> 
> Ps. Sorry about the terrible attempt in a “Scottish” accent. I can do Northern Irish/Irish for sure but Scottish.. nope.

_"It hurts to let go, but sometimes holding on hurts even more."_

Isle of Edom was a small island to the north from Scotland. Its population has barely reached 15,000 which was a ridiculously small number compared to New York City which gave home to over 8,5 million people. 

Thinking of it now, he should have made some more in-depth researches before coming, in that way he would have come to the realisation that the isle has nothing to offer apart from a small supermarket, two inns, a barber and a small florist, that somehow seemed very unreasonable to exist at the first place. 

It was very different from the asphalt jungle of New York he got so accustomed to almost in an unsettling way. 

As long as his eyes could see it was green. Green mountains, green fields.. just _green_. 

The only greyness he could see was the main road that led from the harbour into the centre of the village. The roads leading from there were nothing but dirt roads with rocks. 

The houses, the few that he saw along the road, were all white and plain looking with a small porch at the front. 

He saw a couple of locals mingling around but apart from them, the entire isle seemed dead. 

There was an old church in the middle of the centre, its coloured glasses looked dull, almost as if their lost their colours and shines along the years, remaining nothing but a ghost of their once beautiful self. 

He wondered if the funeral would take place in their or perhaps, under the grey sky in the yard of the cemetery. Not that it mattered much. 

The car jerked as it tried to fight along the rough road surface, its tyres clearly losing the battle as the rocks threw the car from left to right. 

That’s not something you experience on the smooth, miles long motorways in the states. 

The driver who picked him up once he arrived to the isle with the ferry, hasn’t talked since, apart from greeting him with a thick Scottish accent and in all honesty, he wasn’t in a chatty mood so instead of making some small talks, he decided to look out through the window. 

He spotted a dog sniffing the ground in front of one of the houses. It was a black Labrador, or perhaps a mix, it was hard to tell. He looked around, looking for the owner of the dog, but it seemed that it was roaming around on its own. 

Buildings got fewer and fewer as they passed a relatively big three storey building, one that he only assumed was probably a school. A primary school and a college in one perhaps. Maybe, even a nursery. He couldn’t imagine the kids making a trip to the mainland every day, that is, if there were even kids on the isle. He hardly saw a soul so far, although that was maybe due to being so early in the morning. It was just after seven in the morning. 

As much as he hated getting up before 9 in the morning, it was the better option out of the two he had to start with. It was either this or arriving a full day early for the funeral, which would have meant having to spend an extra day here and he didn’t even want to spend an extra hour on the isle in the first place. 

He wasn’t sure why he hated this place so much, perhaps it was due to the fact that he was hours away from home, or maybe that he was completely alone, far away from his friends. 

He glanced back towards the school and spotted a few swing sets and a slide in the back, which confirmed his theory about the primary function of the building. 

Suddenly fat raindrops started to hit against the window as the clouds above opened up sending pouring rain down onto them. 

He watched as the rain draw long, wet lines along the glass, running downwards in their earnest. 

He wondered if it was the kind of part of the world that had more rain in a day then most countries in a month or if he would have the fortune to see the sun in his short stay. He didn’t have his hopes up. 

He leaned back in his seat once he realised that he could barely see anything at all. He closed his eyes and listened to the rhythmical knocking on the windows and roof of the car as he wondered how long further it will take until their reach the cottage. 

Apparently, the isle was fairly popular in terms of truisms, attracting a couple hundred people in a year to visit. He had no idea what could possibly attract people or what could they do here apart from getting wrenched in the rain or visiting the two inns in the centre. 

Granted, the sea was nice, but it’s not like there was no other sea to see. 

The car turned onto a dirt road that lead them up onto a hill. From what he could see, there were hardly any houses, even those had a mile or two between each other. 

He fished his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it to see how long it’s been since he got here. Thirty minutes. He frowned as his eyes travelled to the top left corner of his phone, where instead of the network it only said _No Service_. 

That won’t do. 

“Excuse me. I don’t have signal on my phone. Is it like this everywhere on the isle?” He asked, leaning slightly forward in his seat to address his question to the driver while trying not to sound too bothered by the fact that he can’t contact anyone at all. 

“Aye. Dinnae worry though. There are landlines in the cottages. You can also go out on the skite. The pubs are open every day. How long you’re staying for?” The man said and in all 

honesty, he had no idea what half of that meant. He blinked a few and decided not to ask in case the answer would include a handful of other foreign phrases so instead he answered the question. 

“I’m travelling back tomorrow morning.” He said, leaving all the unhappiness out of his voice as much as he could. He would have go back today if he could, but the last ferry to the mainland was leaving at one and since he had to attend at the funeral at 11, the one and only reason of his visit at the first place, he had no other choice but leave his departure for tomorrow morning. 

“Ye alright there in the back? You look a bit wabbit.” The man said as he frowned suspiciously. 

“Ehm.. I’m..sorry what?” 

“Sorry. Forgot you not from around here.” The man said with a deep laugh. “You look a bit unwell. It’s not my driving is it?” 

“Oh, no. Not at all. I just..I’m here for a funeral. Not exactly the best reason to visit.” He shrugged, hoping that the man wouldn’t pry too much. 

“Oh blimey." 

Whether it was due to awkwardness or something else, they didn’t exchange more words on the way, in ten minutes, they finally reached the small cottage where he will spend the next day or so. 

“Here we are. Home sweet home.” The man said as he turned back to hand him a set of keys. He took them with a nod and pulled his bag closer to himself. He was only staying for a day, there was no need for him to carry a luggage with him. 

“This is the Cherry Tree Cottage. Self-catering. There is a microwave, a fridge, an oven and a kettle in there. There should be some tea in one of the cupboards. I’m going to the funeral myself. I can pick you up at.. say 10?” The man said and he hummed in a response before quickly finding his manners and adding a thank you. 

He was about to get out of the car, a hand already on the door handle when the man quickly asked. 

“What’s your name by the way? I’m Gavin.” 

“I’m Magnus. Magnus Bane.” He said as he got out of the car into the pouring rain. 

…

Once he was inside, he leaned against the door with a heavy sigh. 

It was less than two hours before he will be heading to his father funeral and he had no idea what to prepare himself for. 

He had no idea what to expect. If Gavin lack of knowledge about his father’s family was anything to go by, expectedly, no one would know about him and that was both good and bad. 

On one hand, being an outsider, a foreigner will keep people away from idea to chat him up or god forbid give their condolences to him for his loss. On the other hand, he can already see those few who will attend looking at him with blatant curiosity about his identity and that was something he didn’t need. 

He planned to stay in the back, listen to the eulogy that will probably be based on a sample speech since he couldn’t imagine anyone being able to honestly say anything good about his father. 

With a sigh he dropped his back down to the floor right next to the door and took his soaked jacket off to hang it up on the hooks with the naïve hope that it might dries slightly in the next hour or so. 

The cottage was smelling faintly of dust, mould and wood. He walked into the first room that turned out to be a small living room that opened into the kitchen which also served as a dining room. 

The walls were all painted white which gave a strong contrast to the dark wooden floor and furniture. 

There was a fireplace opposite to the door with a couple of logs that should be enough to make a small fire which he will definitely need considering that the house was rather cold. 

A large red sofa was sitting in front of the fireplace. It was clearly old, if the questionable spots on it was to anything to go by. 

He hoped it was more comfortable than what it looked. 

With a sigh he looked at small wooden coffee table and the mug rings covering its dull surface. Maybe with the fire on and a hot cup of tea he will feel better later on. 

The kitchen was…very basic. A few appliances and three cupboards. There were three top ones, he opened each one by one and found a couple plates, bowls, mugs and glasses as well as some tea and sugar dashed in the back. 

The fridge was empty apart from a lonely bottle of sparkling water. 

With a deep sigh he looked around. It was time to check the bedroom and bathroom upstairs. 

The old stair creaked with each step as he made his way upstairs. 

There were two rooms upstairs. A small bathroom and a middle-sized bedroom. 

He was rather happy to find a double bed in the middle of the room and plenty of pillows and a thick looking duvet. He didn’t like being cold at night. 

Opposite to the bed, stood a chest of drawers with a wardrobe on its right and a large mirror on its left. 

He will hardly need to take his clothes out of his bag, so the plenty of space for his clothes didn’t really matter, however he appreciated the large mirror. 

Looking out through the window from the bedroom he saw a red car driving pass slowly the cottage, stopping in front of it. 

Magnus frowned to himself at the sight. It was only coming to nine, meaning that Gavin was definitely not here yet and as far as he remembered his car was an old black Honda civic. This car looked like a Renault Clio possibly from the early 2010’s. 

Before Magnus could do something, like starting to worry, the car drove off down the hill, assembly towards the town centre. 

He took a step back, away from the window and had a quick glance into the bathroom. 

It was clean. Probably the cleanest part of the house. Had an old bathtub, a porcelain sink, with a small cabin in the bottom and a toilet. 

He opened the cabin and found a couple of fluffy towels as well as a couple of toilet rolls. 

He stood up just to find himself face to face with his own reflection in the mirror. 

The crack through the middle of it made it look like there was two distinguished version of himself looking back at him. He blinked in surprise, even if he wasn’t sure why was the image so strange. 

Seeing himself being divided into too was ironic in a way. 

He felt like he was divided into two in that moment. 

A part of him left behind in his Brooklyn loft, with his friends, his cat, his life. The other one was here, thousands of miles away from home, in the town of his, now gone, father. An outsider. Someone who doesn’t belong here, who shouldn’t even be here at the first place. Yet here he stood, in the small bathroom of a cottage less than two hours away from his father’s funeral, the first and last time he will meet the man who was nothing more than a father only in name to Magnus. 

He was never part of his life, for the best probably. He knew nothing about the man, not as if he ever had wanted to get to know him. 

In all honesty, Magnus hated his father. Loathed him for everything he did and for all the things he should have done but never did. 

Yet, he still came all the way here because apparently his father last wish on his deathbed was to his son to come to his funeral. 

When Magnus first read the letter, he felt the urge to rip the piece of paper to shreds. 

When he read it for the second time, he wanted to burn it until nothing but the ashes among the logs would be the only proof of such letter ever existing. 

The third time, he wanted to pick up the phone and ask his father, how dare he ask him something like this. How dare he believe that Magnus would throw everything aside for a man he didn’t know. 

By the fifth time, he booked the flight and the accommodation. 

Not because he believed that his father deserved his son to be there for him on his last journey, but because he wanted closure. Because he, Magnus, deserved at least this one thing from the man. 

So, here he was. Standing in front of a broken mirror, that could easily be a mirror of his very soul. 

He quickly glanced away from the mirror; one shaking hand opened the tap. 

The water was freezing, of course it was, but right now, he didn’t even care. 

He splashed some water onto his face until his skin became as numb as he felt inside. 

He really should get ready. 

…

He stood in front of the large mirror; his black shirt buttoned up to his neck, neatly tugged in his black dress pants. 

He originally wanted to bring a blazer or at least a vest with him, but he decided against it. No one would see it under his coat whether or not he has one on. 

He looked into the mirror and realised that he never dressed this simple before. His hair was slightly tilted onto the sight, a result of the rain from earlier, his make up was gone, so were his necklaces, rings, ear cuffs and his signature painted nails. 

He frowned at his own image. That was him.. yet it was not him. Not even close. 

The man in the mirror was a dull, colourless..lifeless version of him. 

And all for what? 

He let out a disbelieving snort as he stepped to the bedside table, picking up his rings and sliding them back onto his fingers. 

He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and put back two of his favourite necklaces. 

He took his make up bag in his hand and fished out some foundation, eyeliner and eyeshadow, doing his usual make up. 

It wasn’t over the top, he wasn’t heading to a club after all, but he still wore the same make up he would wear during the day. Kohl around his eyes, some gold eyeshadow under the lash lines with only a tiny amount of highlighter on his cheekbones. 

There. He looked more like himself now. He quickly put some hair spray on his hair, leaving it on the side but with more grace than before. 

He quickly glanced down at his phone. 9:47am. 

He still had over ten minutes before Gavin would arrive. He quickly pulled a bottle of black nail polish out of his bag. 

Two minutes before ten, he heard a horn from outside of the cottage, his cue to leave. 

…

The journey to the cemetery was spent in comfortable silence. The man didn’t initiate a conversation probably out of respect for Magnus’ feelings and although the man shouldn’t worry about those, since he had none, he was still happy with not having to talk. 

“I got you an umbrella. I assumed you didn’t have one.” The man said once they got out of the car and Magnus took it with a thank you. 

Although the rain stopped pouring down at some point the sky remained grey with the promise of more rain. He wondered if it was perhaps some upper irony for having the funeral on such a gloomy day. 

“I need to pick up the kids and my wife, but people should be here already, you go on ahead.” The man said and Magnus nodded in response, even if the last thing he wanted was being left on his own with god knows how many strangers. Not as if the man was someone Magnus knew but at least he wasn’t a complete stranger to him. 

He turned around, towards the cemetery, once the car reversed back onto the main road. 

There were, indeed, people already gathering together, heading towards the back. He took a deep breath and started to make his way towards them as slowly as possible. 

He was happy in a way that the funeral would be held outside. He wasn’t sure how he would have felt in a small church with people on his left and right. Probably like he was about to suffocate and descend down to the deepest pit of the hell. 

He looked at the people and found himself surprised to see just how many people have gathered together. There were at least two dozen of them, men, women, kids, all wearing black from head to toe. He watched a small woman, her hand wrapped around his husband’s arm, they were quietly murmuring to each other. They seemed sad and Magnus wondered if they knew his father or were nothing but some locals, having nothing better to do then attend a funeral on a Thursday morning. 

He was getting closer and closer to the people in the back, there was seemingly some blockage at the front, Magnus couldn’t see ahead to find out what was causing it, but he wasn’t particularly keen to find out either. 

He tried to avoid looking at anyone, afraid of catching an eye contact with someone that would lead to an awkward conversation about the deceased or even better, about Magnus himself, so instead, he was focusing on his polished black shoes. Until he heard a man in front of him to speak up in almost a whisper. 

“Poor boy. He must be having a terrible time coping with Asmodeus’ death.” 

Magnus snapped his head up so fast; he could hear the crack in his neck. How did they know? 

But to his utter shock, the man ahead of him wasn’t talking to him. No. 

He was talking about a man in the front. The man whose eyes were locking with Magnus’ the moment he looked up. 

The man looked just as surprised as Magnus felt himself. His hazel eyes were wide open, his mouth parted slightly even while people were shaking his hand, giving their condolences for his loss, completely oblivious to what was just happening. 

He felt his heart hammering in his chest, a remaining of his initial fear or being exposed, mixing with his current shock. 

He knew the man knew who he was. It was written on his face. The realisation. 

He wondered if it was because he really looked so much like his dad or perhaps, Gavin did have the time to mention it to people in the span of two hours while they were apart. 

He couldn’t hold the eye contact any longer, he quickly looked down and held back a curse. He couldn’t do anything to keep himself busy. His phone was absolutely useless, not as if he would really take it out right here, but still. He fidgeted with his rings nervously as the line moved ahead slowly. 

Until the couple in front of him finally reached the man. 

“My condolences.” The woman said quietly, talking slowly almost as if she was talking to a child. 

Magnus looked to the side, he had to take a deep breath and collect himself. He wanted to turn around and not even stopping until the harbour where he could sit on the first ferry, screw his bag and everything left in the cottage and go as far from this damned isle as he can. 

But he couldn’t. 

He closed out the conversation between the couple and the man, their voices barely reached him as a low murmur in the background. 

Until all the sounds stopped. 

He closed his eyes for a moment before turning towards the man who was looking at him intensely. Hazel eyes scanned his face like he was a question and the answer were written on his face somewhere hidden. 

He wanted to tell the man not to bother. He won’t find answers at Magnus. Not on his face nor in any part of his body. Magnus never had the answers. All he ever had were questions. Questions he never asked his father and obviously.. will never do. 

He cleared his throat as he stepped in front of the man and only now, he realised just how tall the other man was. He was taller than Magnus, which was rare, considering that he was tall enough himself. 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Magnus said as he looked into the man’s eyes. His voice was cold, colder that he intended it to sound. 

“You are his son.” The man said, tilting his head to the side slightly almost in a wondering way. Maybe it was the softness of his voice, or perhaps the bitter urge to deny the statement, regardless the response burst out of Magnus without him having a think about it. 

“Asmodeus was never my father.” He said and didn’t wait to give the man a chance to reply, he stepped to the side and walked past the man towards the crowd. 

…

Overall, if he had to guess, there was roughly thirty people present, all of them standing as one group around the closed casket. 

He was standing in the back, slightly away from everyone. 

He absent-mindedly listened to the priest talking about loss, grief, passing on and everything in-between. 

Then the man from earlier, he still didn’t know his name, stepped to the front and started to speak. 

“Duty, decency, reliability, honour, dignity, respect: these are all qualities that Asmodeus not only held in high esteem but practised every day during his time on this earth.” 

Magnus was stuck between the urge to laugh and cry out loud. He surely couldn’t be speaking about his father. Honour.. decency..dignity? 

“I met Asmodeus when I was barely 19, almost a boy, away from home, all alone, with no friends, no family, no one but my past behind me, a past I was desperately trying to get away from. 

Even now, that it has been over seven years, I often find myself wondering what would’ve happened to me if he doesn’t find me on that night and decides to take me in. 

A stranger, whom he knew nothing about apart from my name and age. 

I told him numerous times along the years how grateful I was for him, but I don’t think he ever understood truly, what he did for me. 

Asmodeus saved my life.” 

Magnus found himself listening to the man despite his absolutely best efforts to not to do so. 

“I was never able to repay that for him and now I will never have the chance to do so. 

He was a great man. He was kind and caring even if he liked to pretend otherwise. 

Like many of us, he had his walls neatly built up around his heart to protect it and I feel happy and grateful for having the chance to see behind those walls, to get to know the man he truly was.” 

_Good for you._ Magnus thought to himself bitterly as he folded his arms in front of his chest. 

“Along the years, Asmodeus told me plenty of stories about his life. He lived his life to the fullest, visited many countries and through his eyes, I had the chance to see the world myself. 

He told me stories about his childhood, how he grew up and what he was like as a kid. 

He also talked to me about his son.” 

Magnus felt his breath stopping somewhere out on the way, between two of his ribs, pushing against them in a way that almost made him believe that it will try to escape through his chest. 

But before it could, before it could break through the bones and skin to tint everything in red, to cover everything in blood just to leave his heart exposed to the world.. Magnus turned around and walked away. 

Away from the crowd, away from the opened casket, away from the lies coming from a man’s mouth that was clearly a lover of his father or perhaps.. the son his father always wanted… and most importantly. Away from his father and his only chance to move on for once and for all.


End file.
